


Succubus/Incubus

by Semi_Formal_Insanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desire, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Nightmares, Unrequited Lust, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Formal_Insanity/pseuds/Semi_Formal_Insanity
Summary: Nightmares and dreams- they produce the same result, really. [quick drabble]





	Succubus/Incubus

**Author's Note:**

> Just a drabble that popped into my head. I have nothing more to say about it, honestly. I have no plans to do anything with it since I really just wanted to get this stupid little idea that popped into my head out of my system. A bit garbo and totally not checked for mistakes, but here it is, Haha!

_ Succubus/Incubus _

* * *

_He often wondered where his sanity went after his eyelids drooped. _

_He wondered when the mane or unruly brown hair had become appealing instead of an irritating obstacle preventing him from properly taking notes in class whenever she sat in front of him. When? When had he concocted the filth that played in his mind like a cherished memory instead of the nightmare it really was during sleep? _

_When had he begun to imagine her as desirable? When had he begun to believe she would be eager to straddle him on the library floor? When had it become normal to imagine the feel of her fingertips threading down through the white-blond hair scattered across his upper torso until they guided him inside her? When had it become a habit to imagine lips on feverish skin, thighs gently squeezing his hips and the slight resistance of a thin membrane giving away as she lowered herself to allow him deeper into her body? _

_Only when she squeezed tightly around him, threatening to drain the life and soul out of him, only then would the vision fade. And he would jolt up in bed, covered in sweat and desire and aching for more. He would grit his teeth and roll to his side, trying his best to ignore the throbbing heat between his legs and the questions racing through his mind. _

_The answers never came._

_But he, with long fingers wrapped around his stiff cock and fresh visions of brown eyes glittering with a desire not concealed, did._

* * *

_He was a puzzle with a frustrating number of pieces missing_

_She would watch him during the day, pretending to humor her best friend’s newfound obsession with the boy he had always considered his rival, but she wasn’t really watching. Observing, yes. Never just watching. Her eyes didn’t follow him because of some illogical paranoia, or because she had accepted his behavior as suspicious and was constructing theories of her own about him. _

_She watched him because he was often loud when surrounded by friends. She spent a worrisome amount of time straining to hear him through the voices in class and the chatter in the great hall, mentally recording the lilt that colored the barbs he sent her way, and the graceful way he moved as he went through his daily routines. She watched him because she was missing pieces, and she was sure that watching him during the day would aid her after the sun finally set. Because the puzzle only materialized at night, and the pieces she had gathered during the day would fit neatly into the parts that would fade away as she slept. _

_He came to her in her dreams. His hands would wind around her, and she would gently shift and guide them. Move them lower, to the breasts sheltered beneath her white school shirt and silk brassiere. And she would use her hands to shape his until they cupped her covered flesh. She’d heard his whimpers, groans, and moans before. Through accidents, arguments, and teasing, she had memorized the throaty sounds. That her twisted mind had turned them into something different in her dreams had shocked her. _

_Still, she insisted. _

_He would find her vulnerable areas with all the skill of the men she’d read about in the romance books her mother had tried but failed to keep from her. Like markers on a map, her own fingers would serve as beacons for his searching hands. In her dreams, she caused the sounds that slipped past his lips. She was the one pressing featherlight kisses on a mouth that tasted as sweet as the treats his mother constantly sent him. She was the one encouraging a masculine body that was all too willing to join with hers beneath one of the library’s many tables. _

_And, as she allowed her hand to travel past her damp knickers after stirring from yet another of her puzzling dreams, she reminded herself that it was just puberty. It would pass. And she would go back to dreaming about the boy she had loved since she has first seen his freckly face on the train._ _She didn’t have to choose between them in her dreams, though. In her dreams, she could bind herself to grey eyes and blond hair._

_In her dreams, she was free to arch and moan beneath the boy who utterly despised her but shagged her as if his existence depended entirely on spilling himself in her. _


End file.
